Fear
A Joker X Scarecrow (Johnathan Crane) Slash.
By Zombie-Ta
Don't like it? Get the FUCK out.
Also, I'm writing as "The Dark Knight" (NOLAN-VERSE) style just because Cillian Murphy and Heath Ledger action is just too sweet to pass up, yeah?
Disclaimers - There's going to be smut in this story as it goes on. In fact, there's going to be a whole lot of it. It's male on male, homosexual and very explicit.
I have taken liberties with the characters, as most writers do.
I don't own any of the characters in this story, Bob Kane and his wonderful team do.
Let's all thank him for writing such a lovely world with such OBVIOUS gay under tones. Thanks Bob, you rock.
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Alrightly.
So. Author's note again. I sure like bullshitting at the beginning of these, don't I? It really helps if you READ these things too, my dear viewer. Anyway, after a little bit of a vacation I am back with another mind numbing chapter of the story. I'm sure you all creamed in your pants in the last chapter, but still demand more. Which is ridiculous. As always, I expect SOME KIND of feedback, if not I don't write any more! Yeah. I do love attention, you're right.
So. Here... We... Go!
...
That really was terrible. Pardon my hideous pun -.-'
Fear
Chapter Four - It's Oh So Quiet
The water had run cold by the time he came to consciousness. He moved limply, like a rag doll slowly coming to life. Like a man stoned Crane floated in and out of the dark sea of wakefulness and began to piece together just what was happening. The white room, his attempt of making the bathroom look a little more pleasant then his primarily grey, dusting living quarters. He noticed small things at first, his brain totally severed from the activity of his body, the way that there was still grime in the floor and wall tiles that he had not gotten to. He felt cold all over, but pleasantly so, like the idea of snow on a too hot day. He leaned his head back on the rim of the claw foot tub, feeling sweat prickle all over him. His nose burned and his eyes felt watery and slow, tongue too dry and unable to move normally. Not to mention the strange taste in his mouth, salty and strangely buttery with a nutty flavor. Crane narrowed his eyes for a moment, grabbing onto the real world with both hands and drawing himself out of the groggy post abduction shock. It wasn't really a 'what did I do last night' type of moment. More or less an 'oh fuck'.
Crane felt himself go numb for a moment, his jaw locking painfully into place. The image of the Joker, his head leaned back showing the clear white like where his face paint started and his skin ended. The taste of him inside Crane's mouth, pumping and pulling, thrusting deeper into his mouth. The pale man gagged and tumbled out of the claw footed bathtub, his suit spreading water everywhere. He'd been sitting in the tub with the shower head spraying on his lower body for go knew how long. Distantly he thought about the fact that he'd have to get the suit dry cleaned as he scrambled over to the toilet and retched. He felt his toes coil inside his wet shoes and socks as he let himself vomit with his eyes closed tightly. When he finished the doctor slammed the top down and flushed in one smooth movement, his head was spinning and he didn't want to see what was leaving in the rust of water. Crane wanted to let it rot in Gotham harbour and get over what had happened, he sat back onto the floor and felt himself start to cry.
He felt like a whore, he'd been used and he had done nothing to do to stop it. He kept on trying to rationalize, saying that the clown would have split him from end to end if he'd... If he'd what? Resisted, bit him for Christ's sake? Crane shook himself, rubbing at his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. He'd lost his glasses as well during the time, one more thing to worry about. Crane stood stiffly, his neck ached his jaw felt tight and sore. The warm water made happy little steam clouds in his bathroom, obscuring the mirror and in turn his reflection as he stripped himself of the sticky outer layers of his suit. He felt thin and used and... Well the doctor felt like a slut. Carelessly unbuttoning his pants and letting them fall to the tiles he felt the water, letting it flow over the tips of his fingers for a moment before slipping in.
Crane took a moment to look down at himself. He was thin, most likely too thin, when he stretched his back ribs could be seen though the skin. He let one hand drag over them lazily as he turned his back to the water and dampened his hair, always a little too dark and a little too messy for his appearance. The heat loosened the muscles in his back and he gave a soft sigh. He wanted to scrub himself raw, inside and out, the idea of drinking bleach came into his head from somewhere but was quickly pushed off. Settling for a simple scrubbing with scentless soap and a face cloth Crane left the shower feeling better, even if it was only slightly. He walked, dressed in boxer shorts and a crisp, stolen, white tee-shirt. He needed to work, to get that done for Joker, lest something worse happen to him. He remembered all the people that had fallen for that man to get what he wanted and shivered as he sat down at his desk.
Formulas were never a problem for the doctor, numbers and compounds came easily to his head as if found lying around in his brain's open space. He quickly combined some Cannabinoid receptor angonist formulas, a basic recipe for PCP, with an NMDA a harsh mix of THC together. The drawings flowed easily from his hand to the paper, his face emotionless and calculating, he moved the fingers on his right hand touching the soft pads to the smooth wood of his desk in quick succession. He narrowed his eyes as the conjoined letters and numbers, feeling like Timothy Leary deducing things in his basement or something.
Crane gave up early, his brain kept on turning to a dark place in the corner of his skull where he kept his bad images and feelings. Wanting to think over what had happened to him, like he had forgotten some detail. Blocking a thought was like not letting your tongue poke and prod at a tiny cut in your mouth, thought Crane as his television flickered in the no-light of his apartment in the narrows. The news flashed across the screen, mostly unseen by Crane. He knew what he was looking for, some sign that the Batman had found out the Joker and that scar faced bastard was back in the loony bin where he belonged. The doctor drummed his fingers against the side arm of the couch, remembering when he had found a dead cat plastered to the underside of the cushion. He looked around at the small apartment, it was barren mostly. There was the flowered sofa that he sat on, his television, the kitchen counter, complete with a white stove stained in several places where some junkie was hard-up for a hit. His favorite part of the whole place had to be the bed, it's soft twin blanket seemed to be calling him over. The soft pillows singing a siren song for his head, he needed real sleep, and yet the need to stay awake was also there... Crane settled for looking at it between news casts.
After more then an hour of waiting for the broadcast that would never come Crane went to bed grudgingly, a child after being denied a snow day. He coiled into a loose fetal position, bringing his long legs up to nearly his chest and laying his skinny arms around himself. It was late into the night, early morning... Darker then Crane was used to because he'd shut his blinds to block out the unsightly vision of The Narrows from slipping into his gaze now and then. Crane often questioned why people would live here by choice, why people would move here to live with their families. The shouts, catcalls and shots from the outside still filtered trough the doctor's tightly shut windows and it was the lullaby that he'd been slipping off to dreamland with for a few months. Ever since he'd been forced here after getting out of Arkham the second time. It had been his hospital for over a year. His kingdom. Did they really think that he would be chained for that long?! Not the Scarecrow! Not him!
Crane's eyes snapped open at that thought, they looked around the blurry room for a moment shiftily. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that had been changed in his line of sight. Scarecrow always made him feel like he was being watched, like something that he didn't know was going on in the dark clockwork of his head. These kind of things made him scared and worried for his health. Under his own drug plan he had most of the control of himself, nearly all the parts. But the fear was still there, like a crusted over cut, ready to tear open and bleed, bleed, bleed like new. "Bleed, bleed, bleed..." Whispered Crane as he thought the words. His thin body shifted under the covers as he moved slightly to get a better view of the room.
The slow crawl of terror was working up his back, slithering past in shoulder blades and resting in the back of his mind. He felt heavy, eyelids dragging down like lead. He shook his shaggy head slightly. Sleep was a bad thing when the terror was around, he didn't want those sorts of dreams right now. The ones filled with the liquid black face of The Batman. His eyes closed against his will, the thick black eyelashes tickling the soft underneath of his lids. His breath became slow and patterned for a moment before he jumped and opened his eyes again.
Crane looked at himself in the mirror now, wide blue eyes set in chalky skin with heavy dark circles of sleeplessness under them. Shadowed in black lashes that matched his naturally wavy hair. He looked like an addict, his sunken stomach and long fingered hands with chewed nails. The shiftiness of his eyes that never seemed to stay still in his head for long. He narrowed those icy eyes and leaned in to look at himself, the cut on his bottom lip had healed the blood caked in a small brown rivet. Johnathan moved his spidery hands to his lip, which he pulled on, feeling the soft skin give under his hand and the cut open back up. He looked down at the blood on his hands, feeling it between his fingers as more dripped from the cut. He was faintly aware of a burning pain before hot hands grabbed his thin hips from behind. He gave a short cry as he was turned around to face that horrid red grin and felt the man push himself against Crane, leaning him backward over the sink. They were face to face, Crane cold only stammer and look at those round eyes, ringed with black make-up like two jewels in dark stone.
One hand moved under his shirt, the other was somewhere behind Crane, planted on the wall and preventing any escape. The man's tongue rasped out of his mouth, lingering in almost a sensual way at the torn corners of his mouth. The doctor was temped to do the same as the clown's tongue slipped past his canine teeth the pink skin pulling down the sharp white teeth. The purple gloved hand that had slipped under Johnathan's shirt had moved around to the back and they were now pressed together, hip to hip. "Wha?" Began Crane, but the sentence was quickly transformed into a sharp gasp that was part shock and part pleasure. The probing finger, owned by the grinning man who had the hungry eyes of a wolf had caressed an area that Crane was normally only slightly aware of. The doctor gasped again as the contact was made more apparent, his hips bucked, pushing himself into Joker's hips. The clown grinned again, pushing the scars past his ears and showing a wide array of teeth behind those sloppy lips.
The grin came closer, lingering in front of Johnathan's mouth. The doctor felt himself part his lips slightly, tasting the Joker's breath like a slow smokey leak. His eyes half closed as he cocked his head to the side slightly. He didn't question it, he knew now that he wanted whatever was coming and his body was ready for it, it seemed to have control of him as he moved to allow the other man more access to the spot between Crane's cheeks. The doctor's head was abruptly pushed back, the back of it coming in sharp contact to his bathroom mirror, he left the warm trickle of blood mix with the strands of his hair and the slivers of glass there, digging deep. He cried out in pain once, half hearted and numb, then moaned as a soft, slick warmth appeared on is neck. Then there was suction on his unprotected neck, the occasional nick of teeth and the hardened rasp of scar on creamy skin. Johnathan found his own hands searching for their own purchase on this creature of lust and pain. Hands slipping hesitantly into the oily mass of curls, down onto his back of his neck and moving to stroke slowly down the collar bones hidden under a teal silk shirt.
Lost in sensation, Crane felt his hands wander while his own body reacted in it's way. Relaxing and contracting around the finger that was now becoming more pleasure then pain, digging into him as teeth clamped onto his neck between aggressive licks and kisses. He was roughly turned around, bending over the sink by a hand on his lower stomach, he righted his stance and braced for it. The sound of belts being undone and a zipper getting angrily torn down as well as slopping panting and the soft sound of cloth meeting tile. Johnathan looked up into the broken mirror and looked into his own face with a slight look of disgust as his boxers were ripped down his legs. "Aaa-re... Uh - are you reaa-dy?" Said the clown, Cranes suddenly supper sensitive ears picked up the sloppy sound of his lips being licked. He looked into the mirror again, the facets of his face splintering here and there... The burlap face of Scarecrow looked at him from behind, it's stitch grin pulled up grotesquely, snowing a maw of teeth and maggots rolled out freely. He laughed as Crane turned around and skittered away from it, covering his head and screaming. His throat felt that it was going to split open, like his brain stem would snap or his ear drums would explode out of his head.
He could still hear the his own tortured screaming and Scarecrow's harsh, crackling laughter when he sat up in bed. His eyes snapping open so fast it hurt, he looked around and pulled the blanket to his chin. He was sweating, so much that the blanket was damp and his hair hung in loose curls. It had been a dream? All of it? Crane panted and leaned back onto his elbows, whipping his head and face with one hand while the other roamed to his neck. Johnathan felt his Adam's apple bob under his skin as he swallowed several times, breathing quickly out of his mouth as he tried to get control of himself. Crane lay on his back and squeezed his eyes closed, already some of the dream had disappeared. He felt unhurt, so that meant that it was in truth a night terror... His eyes slowly opened in confusion, he looked down his bony chest to a bump in the blanket. Something hot and hard lay against the soft skin of his thigh, Crane's eyes widened as he lifted the blanket.